Fucking awesome.
She yelled, “Don’t shoot! It’s not his fault! I told him I was eighteen!”
Jesus. Seriously? She thought the FBI was on underage nookie patrol?
Junior scrambled to his feet and threw his arms in the air. He knew the drill. “Christ, don’t shoot! I’m not armed.”
“I can see that.”
“What are you doin’ here?”
I kept my gun trained on him and did not allow my gaze to drop below his chin. “I heard noises. And since you’re involved in a federal investigation, I suspected you might be in distress. I announced myself before I came in.”
“Yeah? Well, I didn’t hear you because we were a little busy!”
“A federal investigation?” the girl repeated. “You didn’t tell me you were part of that.”
“But baby, I’m not. Listen to me.”
From the corner of my eye I could see the girl scrambling to get her clothes on.
“So much for mourning your true love, Verline, huh, Junior? She’s been dead, what, a day? And you’re already bumping uglies with someone else?”
Junior shook his hair out of his eyes. “I ain’t got a gun in here, so do you mind putting that thing away?”
“I’ll put mine away if you put yours away.” I lowered my gun but didn’t holster it.
He whispered to the girl, and she pushed back, slipping on a hoodie-but not before I noticed she had hickeys all over her neck. She was on the plump side, as well as the illegal side. I practiced my hard-cop stare as she shuffled past me.
Then I glanced at Junior. He’d pulled on a pair of boxing shorts and a long-sleeved shirt.
“Didja hafta bust in right then? You couldn’t have waited another five minutes?”
“Just be goddamn thankful I’m not having you arrested for statutory rape when I haul your ass into the tribal PD.”
His eyes rounded. “What?”
“I gave you twenty-four hours, which are almost up. You need to give an official statement about why you believe Rollie had sufficient motivation to kill Verline Dupris.” I gestured to his feet. “Put on some shoes.”
“But I can’t-”
“Yes, you can. You’re riding with me. And if you pull any bullshit moves, I’ll shoot you. Understand?”
“Yeah. You’re kinda violent and trigger-happy for a fed.”
“That’s why they hired me.”
No issues getting Junior to the cop shop. Officer Ferguson was on duty, and she snagged an interview room.
For all his blustering about not wanting to talk to the cops, Junior spilled his guts pretty good. Nothing he’d said was new information to me, but I was relieved to have it on record. As the interview wound down, one thing occurred to me. “I know your uncle Leo and Rollie both practice Native American herbal medicine. It seems to be a family thing. Have you ever shown an interest in it?”
“You mean has Rollie ever taken me out to gather plants, twigs, berries, flowers, and shit? No. That old-way stuff don’t interest me. That’s where me and Arlette were alike. We liked reading about it, not doin’ it.”
“How’s that?”
“Her aunt did all that natural herb stuff, too. Made her own home remedies. Every Indian has a different recipe, and they still claim theirs is traditional. It’s a buncha crap. But some folks, white folks especially, will pay big money for it.”
Fergie and I exchanged a look.
“Thanks for coming in, Junior.” I held open the conference room door. “You’re free to go.”
He snorted. “Like I had a choice. How am I getting home? You brought me here.”
“I could get a patrol car to drop you at your place,” Officer Ferguson said sweetly.
“I’d rather walk.”
After I shut the door, I noticed Fergie’s perplexed look. “Does everyone else at the tribal PD think Rollie is guilty?”
“To be honest, we haven’t discussed it. Not like you feebies do. Diagramming the problem from every conceivable angle. Keeping your findings to yourself. But I’ll admit all agencies missed the herbal angle with Triscell Elk Thunder.”
I let her opinion of feebies slide. “True. I believe I’ll have a follow-up chat with her. You busy right now?”
Fergie raised her pale red eyebrows. “You plan to just show up at the tribal president’s house?”
“Yes. Why? Do they discourage drop-by visitors?
“Do ya think?”
“But it would be for official business. Not like I’m expecting them to serve me a cocktail and appetizers or anything.”
“As an FBI agent, you can get away with dropping by-even with the no-contact order. Me? No way. The tribal president can put pressure on the council to put pressure on the tribal police to ax me. So I’ll give you the address, but I’ll be right here, safe in the office, by my computer, typing up this interview for the case file.”
I grinned. “Sounds good. Will you fax a copy to the FBI?”
“Sure.”
Before I headed out, I remembered one other thing I’d forgotten to ask Junior, so I posed the question to Fergie. “This is off the record. But if a person needed money because he had, say, a gambling problem, who’s in the moneylending business on the rez? Besides Saro. I know Rollie dabbles in it. But there’s got to be more than those two.”
Officer Ferguson fidgeted.
“This is not for an FBI case. I’m not looking to borrow money. I’m just asking; hypothetically, if I needed extra cash, who I could ask?”
She opened her mouth. Snapped it shut.
That gut feeling told me I wouldn’t like her answer. If she answered.
Officer Ferguson looked around guiltily, and then leaned forward. “You did not hear this from me. Promise you’ll keep me out of it?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re already going to the right place.”
I frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“Latimer Elk Thunder owns the gas station. But do you think that’s where he got all his money? No. He’s got a loan business on the side.”
“No kidding.” I wondered if the feds were aware and forgot to mention that small factoid to us. Or maybe they assumed because I was an enrolled member of the tribe I already knew about tribal shit like this. Dammit. I’d really hate it if I was the only agent in the dark. “How long has this been going on?”
“My understanding is he took over the gas station from his father-in-law about five years ago, after the man had a fatal heart attack. That’s when he expanded the moneylending portion of the business. Part of the appeal for borrowers is he doesn’t demand cash as repayment. He’ll take anything of value, which is why people go to him. And if repayment isn’t made fast enough, he’ll expect those who owe him to perform a task.”
Sounded very much like Rollie and the favors he bargained for. “What kind of task?”
“I’m not sure. But one guy I picked up for public intoxication a few months back begged me to arrest him. He wanted a place to sleep, even in jail, where no one could harass him.”
“After Elk Thunder got elected, was law enforcement worried that he’d overstep his bounds and ask the tribal cops to turn a blind eye to his activities?”
“Yes. No one in this office was happy he won the election. Our old tribal police chief, Darwin Swallow, requested early retirement. Then he moved to Arizona.”
“How did Elk Thunder win?”
“Members of the tribe want to believe things would get better. There would be new jobs. There would be new houses. Better health care. Better opportunities for young people. Elk Thunder played on that, without promising it. He’s pretty charismatic.” She shrugged. “He didn’t win by much, but it was enough.”
“Any other high-profile tribal members resign a position after Elk Thunder took office?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“I appreciate your candor, Fergie.” I slipped on my coat.